Page 95 of Forbidden Dance
“It’s a waltz,” I say. “It’s what we do best.”
He takes my hand. “I’m going to step on those toe shoes.”
This makes me laugh. “You are just a damn amateur.”
He pulls me in, grasping my hand. His smile is huge and genuine.
The position is familiar and calms me. We begin the steps, one-two-three, easy and simple. When he turns me out in the first spin, people clap. I don’t know what the audience thinks, how simple this must look compared to the big productions they saw earlier. But my eyes are on Blitz, and he’s looking at me. I have to make that be what matters.
Our steps get longer and more sweeping. We swing to the beat, and I feel my skirt flaring out. Then he turns me to face away from him, his hand on my thigh, and I remember this move and let him lift me onto his shoulder, just like that day in Studio 3.
I roll over his back and cartwheel out. The crowd cheers, and we come back around to each other. He lifts me up again, this time rolling me in front of him like he’s done so many times before, his hand on my thigh to sweep me into a downward position. I remember to keep my arms and hands pretty.
Another cheer.
We’re doing it. Unscripted. Us.
He lifts me back to standing and spins me in close, so our faces are right next to each other. We’re both breathing hard. We stay here a moment, hearing the shouts from the audience.
He curls me out from him and lets go of my hand. He takes a few steps back and then, he does it, agrand jeté, just like I taught him. I throw my head back and laugh. “Perfect!” I tell him.
He comes back to me and holds me by the waist. “Turn for me,” he says.
I spin the way we did before, then move away from him into a whirl, my arms starting low and spinning higher and higher as the world becomes a blur.
When I come out of it, Blitz is there, kneeling with one leg back. “Show me what you can do now,” he says.
I know what he means, and Irelevéintoen pointeand take tiny mincing steps toward him. He grasps me around the waist and turns me in a lazy circle. When I’m facing him again, he looks up at me and says, “You are incredible.”
“You told Bennett you were in love with me,” I tell him.
“I did,” he says.
“You didn’t tell me about the extra episodes.”
His expression shifts. “No, I didn’t.”
I sit on his bent knee. “You didn’t plan to do them, did you?”
He shakes his head no. “Is that why you’re here?”
I smile. “Somebody had to save Benjamin from Blitz Craven.”
The crowd erupts at that and I realize microphones are picking up our words. Somebody in the audience shouts, “Kiss her!” and that’s all the encouragement Blitz needs.
His lips land on mine, and I melt into him in our familiar way. My hands come to his hair, so lacquered and shiny that I almost laugh. But then his kiss gets deeper, more serious, and steals my breath.
The room erupts. The announcer shouts, “Who IS this girl?” over the noise.
Blitz turns me out and stands. “This is Livia!” he says. “And she’s my choice for my partner.” He turns to me. “In dance.” He twirls me out in a circle and then back into him. “And in life.”
He kisses me again. And I don’t know anything else that happens because all I can see or feel is Blitz Craven.
~*´`*~
We stay that way until the lights go down. A man shouts, “And we’re out.”
The room goes wild.
